


North

by bluesweatshirt



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Gen Work, Jedi Apprentice Era, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Memory Loss, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, The Force and I basically put them in time-out to deal with their trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesweatshirt/pseuds/bluesweatshirt
Summary: They had been gone for four months by the time that Mace found them.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so thrilled that the Jedi Apprentice fandom is still thriving. It's pretty much the only good news I received in all of 2020 tbh. I love the dynamic between these two. I was obsessed with JA and TPM as a preteen, and continue to be obsessed in my late 20s. I'm particularly interested in how Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's relationship is defined by their roles as master/padawan. So my idea for this fic was to take them away from the temple and see what would happen. I think both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon struggle with attachment in different ways. It's like Obi-Wan wants Qui-Gon to love him and be a father to him, but he doesn't know how to ask for it because he only knows life as a Jedi. 
> 
> Cue mild angst and ridiculous fluff. I'm not saying this is the classiest or most artistic fic I've ever written, but it sure has been fun so far. I'm anticipating that it will be about 5 chapters long.

_Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind_

_Let our hearts like doors open wide, open wide_

_Settle our bones like wood over time, over time_

_Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine._

_-_ "North" by Sleeping at Last

  
  


Obi-Wan desperately tried to prevent the tears from falling from his eyes. 

It would feel so good to let go, to curl into a ball and let them spill over, pouring out his grief into his pillow like he had done many nights as a youngling in the crèche. 

He shouldn’t do that as a fourteen-year-old, however. And he _couldn’t_ do that while his master remained in his room. 

“Obi-Wan,” his master said, his voice so weary and gentle that it made Obi-Wan’s throat ache. “I wish you would tell me what has been troubling you so, little one.”

_Don't call me that!_

The furious thought escaped from Obi-Wan’s mind before he could stop it. Regret washed over him instantly. He’d ruined any illusion of being asleep, for one. And second, he’d exposed a fragment of his deepest weakness to his master.

He slammed his shields down, closing off his half of their bond, even though he hated the sudden sense of loss the missing link caused. He rolled over onto his other side, away from his master, towards the neutral white wall of their Temple quarters, the first tear escaping onto his cheek. 

“Obi-Wan–”

“Please, Master,” Obi-Wan said, and he was proud of how even his voice sounded in the darkness. 

Even with his end muted, he could feel Qui-Gon’s hesitation through their bond, his confusion and worry. It made him want to cry even more, the overwhelming guilt and shame he felt at being defiant and cold towards his master. 

He wasn’t acting like a Jedi at all. He was acting like- 

Like-

The _other_ boy. 

He couldn’t even think the name.

Qui-Gon had always respected Obi-Wan’s wishes when it came to his emotions. Where other masters would have rebuked him, he simply heard his master stand with a tired sigh. 

“I will be here when you are ready to talk about whatever is troubling you, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said softly. 

Obi-Wan waited until he heard his bedroom door hiss shut before he allowed the other tears to fall.

***

They had been gone for four months by the time that Mace found them. 

When his craft touched down on the small planet, he expected to find Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan waiting for him in the large clearing at the edge of the settlement. Obi-Wan’s desperate call through the Force had been powerful enough for the entire Jedi Council to hear it and track the missing Master-Padawan team straight to this unknown planet in the Outer Rim. Mission protocols dictated that Jedi who needed rescuing should wait near a wide flat space on the outskirts of the area’s largest settlement. Mace expected to see Obi-Wan running and waving eagerly, or perhaps Qui-Gon serenely following, a slight hint of a smile on his face. 

When Mace stepped off his ship, however, his only greeting was a flock of strange-looking birds who let out startled, mournful cries and flew off when they heard the pneumatic hiss of the ship’s door. 

He waded into the tall, verdant grass that stretched out before him like an ocean. The sky on this nameless planet had a grayish tinge to it, which only heightened the bright hue of the green foliage that stretched for miles in every direction. Mace could feel humidity in the air, so thick that he almost imagined that he could taste droplets of water on his tongue when he breathed. 

He automatically reached for the Force, aiming to locate Qui-Gon. The two of them had grown up in the crѐche together, and still had the kind of light, everlasting Force-bond that many agemates shared, developed from shared laughter in the initiate dorms, bruises from saber class, and white-knuckled training missions. 

A light rain began to fall, cool and refreshing on his face. 

To his surprise, the Force did not answer him when he sought it. An ominous feeling blossoming in his stomach, he stretched a little further, tugging now. Again, the Force did not answer. 

Come to think of it, Mace’s body suddenly felt rather...odd. Like he had come down with a bad case of the Coruscanti flu and all of his senses had grown muddled and muted. 

It was strange, he supposed. _And yet..._ a quiet voice mused in his head, gently gathering up the worry and dispelling it. _Why should he care if the Force was missing?_ He was in fine health, after all. He could certainly walk to a town a few miles away on his own and ask after his friends without using the Force. 

He shrugged slightly and began walking towards the wooden huts and buildings he could see in the distance. 

***

When Obi-Wan first awoke after the crash, he blinked his heavy eyelids and rolled over onto his left side, reflexively reaching out to grab his blanket and pull it over his head for five extra minutes of sleep, just as he did every morning at the Temple. 

To his surprise, his fingers brushed against something soft and sedimentary, more like dirt than fabric. After groggily feeling around for a second, he was able to confirm there was no blanket to be found. Nor was his chrono alarm chirping annoyingly.

Come to think of it, pain was beginning to blossom in his limbs as consciousness returned. Blinking curiously, he opened gritty eyelids for real this time. He looked at his fingers, the closest thing to his face, and saw-

Dirt. 

He sat bolt upright with a gasp. He wasn’t in the Temple at all, and his hands were dirty because he was laying in _an actual patch of mud._ Glancing around in bewilderment, he found that he was sprawled at the edge of a clearing, where a grassy meadow met a copse of trees. The trees were tall and thin, branches swaying gently in the breeze. The sky above was gray and overcast, but the threat of rain didn’t feel imminent. It would have been almost peaceful, like a place he might mentally visit during meditation, if he wasn’t so distracted with burgeoning worry for his missing master. 

“Master?” He asked, beginning to fumble to knees, trying to figure out what hurt and why. His temples throbbed, his ribs twinged painfully, and he could feel that his body was covered with bruises from head to toe. His left ankle ached sharply, but it grudgingly supported his weight when he clambered to an upright position. 

“Master?” He continued, raising his voice slightly. He couldn’t let the fear seep into his tone; he needed to tuck it under his shields and meditate upon it later. Time was of the essence here, and he needed medical supplies and a communication device and _Qui-Gon,_ oh Force, the last thing he remembered was that they had been dropping like a rock from the atmosphere in their ship, both straining with the Force to cushion their impact-

The wreckage of their ship glinted harshly in the peculiar dim sunlight, low fires flickering around the crumpled spacecraft in the meadow. Obi-Wan was lucky to have been thrown clear of the wreckage, but his Master could still be trapped inside the burning ship.

“Master!” He repeated, his voice growing frantic against his will. He realized, with a start, that he couldn’t find their training bond, normally a small candle glowing warmly at the back of his mind. He scrambled through the tall grass, searching for Qui-Gon. 

He heard a muffled groan behind him, coming from the trees, and he wheeled around gratefully.

So Qui-Gon had been ejected, too. He’d been thrown further than Obi-Wan, however, which probably meant his injuries were worse. And not that Obi-Wan would ever say this to Qui-Gon’s face, but his master was nearly 40 standard years old, while Obi-Wan was just 14. He could heal from a sprained ankle in days, where it might take his Master weeks. 

“Master,” he breathed in relief, collapsing to his knees next to the older man. Qui-Gon had blood running down his face from a nasty cut near his hairline. Nothing looked visibly bent or broken, but Vokara Che had lectured his padawan class about neck and spinal injuries just a few cycles ago and Obi-Wan knew better than to try to move his master. 

“Master,” he repeated, cautiously squeezing Qui-Gon’s shoulder. 

Qui-Gon’s eyes opened, through not without effort. 

“Padawan,” he said hoarsely. “Are you alright?”

Obi-Wan nodded, still disoriented and overwhelmed by the situation. “Just banged up. Are you able to sit up?”

Qui-Gon nodded, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. The frown between his eyebrows and the slight sheen of sweat on his face were the only signs of his discomfort. 

“I can’t feel the Force,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Me either,” Obi-Wan confirmed. He strained to remember how they had come to be in this situation, but his memories felt like they were beginning to slip away from him, like sand in the hourglass of the training salle at the Temple. 

_The Temple._ They had been on their way back to the Temple after a mission. 

“Master, there was a strong disturbance in the Force. And then our ship was being dragged here, down to this planet. Why-?”

Qui-Gon did not need their training bond to read the panic in Obi-Wan’s words. 

“Peace, padawan. We will discover what happened to both us and the Force in due time. For now, we must consider our immediate problems. It looks like it may grow dark soon, and we need water and shelter for the night. We may need firewood, too, since we do not know the climate of this planet.”

Obi-Wan was used to feeling the Force flow through him soothingly whenever he took deep, calming breaths. He tried to hide how his fear grew now when he breathed in and nothing happened. 

“I’ll go scout the area for water and firewood, Master,” Obi-Wan declared, anxious to be moving so he didn’t have to think about how they were going to survive and get help with their ship burnt to a crisp and the Force unreachable. 

Qui-Gon nodded, his breathing slightly faster than normal as he pulled himself up to stand. Obi-Wan worried about the pallor on his master’s face and the blood still pooling from the wound on his hairline. Without the Force, their bodies would heal far more slowly than usual. But it was reassuring to see Qui-Gon back to his normal height, towering a head over Obi-Wan once more. 

With only a single backward glance to make sure that his master remained upright, Obi-Wan slipped deeper into the trees. 

***

That first night, they made camp by a small stream that Obi-Wan found, just about a mile away from where they’d crashed. His ankle ached from hobbling back and forth between the two sites, but the precious bacta patches that Qui-Gon had somehow managed to liberate from their ship’s wreckage helped significantly. 

He sat on a log across from his master, his ankle elevated, his skin cooled by the healing bacta and the night air. Qui-Gon had placed a patch on the wound on his forehead, and the deep gash was beginning to close and scab over, much to Obi-Wan’s relief. He had only a rudimentary understanding of how to stitch wounds shut - a single afternoon in his mission training seminar spent threading a needle through some muja fruit for practice. 

He was also grateful for the supply of clean water close by. There were many medium-sized brown fish glimmering in the stream, which he supposed could serve as a food supply if they needed it. 

He much preferred the Temple’s bland, safe ration packets to strange fish, however. 

Fortunately, there had been a few ration packets in the ship’s fireproof emergency supply box. Obi-Wan hadn’t expected himself to be hungry, but he’d eaten ravenously nonetheless when Qui-Gon announced that it was time for an evening meal. 

The fire flickered between them, and Obi-Wan decided to broach the subject of their situation again now that their immediate needs were met. 

“Master?” He began. “How will we contact the Temple?”

Qui-Gon offered him a small smile. “I confess that I have been asking myself that same question, Padawan.”

“There’s another thing I’ve been worrying about, Master. We do not know what the native population of this planet is like, and without the Force, we cannot sense lifeforms who may want to attack us.”

“What do you propose that we do, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked, his expression thoughtful. 

Obi-Wan felt a small rush of pride. It had been months since Melida/Daan, and he still felt grateful whenever Qui-Gon asked for his opinions and judgments. 

“We should sleep in shifts to keep watch and keep trying to use the Force. And we should see if we can salvage the ship’s comm system tomorrow.”

“We should also meditate, Padawan,” Qui-Gon instructed. “Even if we cannot access the Force, we should clear our minds and prepare for what we might face in the coming days.”

Obi-Wan nodded dutifully. To be honest, he didn’t want to dwell on the fact that he was missing the Force. It felt like a phantom limb, peculiar and uncomfortable beneath his skin. Still, after Melida/Daan he had promised himself that he would not question Qui-Gon’s words again. 

He obediently settled into a meditative position. He managed to sit mostly still for half an hour, but it was difficult to meditate for long without the Force at his disposal, and he soon began fidgeting. 

“Our lightsabers,” he whispered suddenly, the thought occurring to him. 

“What was that, Padawan?” 

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, embarrassed. “Sorry for disturbing you, Master,” he apologized sheepishly, scratching his neck. “I just realized...neither of us has our lightsabers.”

Qui-Gon frowned. “We...took them off during our flight. You were going to clean them.”

Obi-Wan returned his master’s frown. Something wasn’t right. Now that Qui-Gon had mentioned it, he could remember promising to clean their sabers, but he’d been unable to recall this fact on our own. 

“Something strange is happening to our memories, Master. I don’t like it,” he said.

“Perhaps it’s the shock of losing access to the Force,” Qui-Gon suggested. “Our minds aren’t used to it.” 

But something told Obi-Wan that there was more to this situation than their crash and isolation from the Force. The more that he tried to remember, the more rapidly the recollections seemed to fall away from him, retreating into some dark, untouchable corner of his psyche. 

“Regardless, we will retrieve our sabers at first light tomorrow, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said gently, obviously hoping to quell Obi-Wan’s worries. Obi-Wan felt the familiar flash of gratitude and shame run through him. _Gratitude_ for his master’s patient teachings, and _shame_ for running away and betraying their training bond on Melida/Daan. 

Surely he didn’t deserve such attentiveness from his master anymore.

“I will take first watch, Master,” Obi-Wan promised, pulling his singed cloak tighter around his shoulders. After all that he had put his master through, it was the least he could do. 

***

When Obi-Wan woke up the following morning, it was raining. He let out a small grumble of irritation as he sat up, shaking water droplets off his head. 

He looked around, feeling a moment of befuddlement. Were he and Qui-Gon on a mission somewhere? They hadn’t been anywhere that had required camping for at least six months now. Why was he sleeping outside?

Unease growing, he stood cautiously, discovering several bruises and aching muscles in the process. Had they been in a fight last night? He looked around a small clearing surrounded by trees. A stream bubbled a few yards away.

He suddenly had the peculiar feeling of being watched by someone or something. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and goosebumps spread down his arms. 

“Master?” He called, trying to keep his voice low so that it would not be heard by possible attackers. He reached out for the training bond, gasping when he found it cold and absent in the back of his mind. 

“Master?!” He called again, his voice growing desperate. 

At the sound of Obi-Wan’s cry, Qui-Gon emerged from a thicket of trees nearby. He carried a small collection of roots and berries in his hands. 

“I can’t feel the Force,” Obi-Wan blurted immediately. His fingers clenched around the river stone in his pocket, a hidden nervous habit. “Where are we?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. He was far calmer than Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan could tell that his master was also worried and perplexed, even without their bond. 

“I can’t feel the Force either, Padawan. Nor do I know the name of this planet.”

“What should we do, Master?” Obi-Wan scrubbed at his temple, wishing that he could wipe away the fog surrounding his memories and understand what was happening to them. 

Qui-Gon was quiet for a moment, weighing the options. “It is cold and wet and we are disoriented. Shelter and warmth are essential.”

“Did...did our ship crash here?” Obi-Wan asked. “Maybe we could find it and take shelter there.”

“A good plan, Padawan,” Qui-Gon inclined his head, and Obi-Wan felt a small rush of happiness. “But...do you know where the ship is?”

Obi-Wan spun slowly in a circle. None of the landmarks were familiar to him - not the stream, not the crooked tree, nor the wildflowers. “It could be anywhere, Master,” he shook his head. “We must have walked here last night to be close to the water supply.”

“I do not know anything about the native population of this planet,” Qui-Gon mused. “But when I went to look for food, I noticed smoke. There is a settlement a few miles to the north.”

“Do you think they will have a comm system we can use?” Obi-Wan asked hopefully. 

Qui-Gon appeared to consider this question. “I’m not certain. But if this planet has advanced technology like comm units, then surely they have technology to scan the atmosphere for crashing ships.”

“So you think they don’t have advanced technology, or they do, and they’re ignoring us for a reason.”

“Astutely inferred, my Padawan,” Qui-Gon said. “Come now, we have many miles to walk today.” He tugged on Obi-Wan’s padawan braid with a small smile as he walked past. Obi-Wan felt his shoulders relax a fraction. 


	2. Chapter 2

Fortunately, the native population was not waiting for them with blasters and cannons. 

“I’ve never seen a species with color-changing skin like that!” Obi-Wan gasped eagerly. 

Qui-Gon looked over at him with mild exasperation, but his smile was fond. “We do not know how good their hearing is, my young anthropologist. I’d advise you to keep your voice down.”

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan whispered guiltily. 

The two of them were crouched behind a patch of shrubs, observing the rustic settlement that lay before them. 

Qui-Gon had been correct in his assumptions; this civilization was primitive by Republic standards. The homes and shops were simple wood structures, almost like huts. The native species seemed to walk everywhere - there wasn’t a speeder or a ship in sight. Instead of holding comm units and datapads, they carried handwoven baskets full of strange fruits and vegetables. 

Obi-Wan had read extensively about societies that were pre-contact with the Republic, but he had never seen one with his own eyes. He leaned as far forward as he could without toppling into the shrubs, drinking everything in. Master Nu in the Temple Archives would love to hear about this!

“Tell me your observations about the beings in this settlement, Padawan,” Qui-Gon prompted.

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment, observing the street in front of him. “They are not humanoid, but they may have once had a humanoid ancestor, given their two eyes, single nose, single mouth, and various other facial features. They are bipedal just like us. However, they are shorter than humans, and their skin color is not fixed. It can change rapidly, although we do not know why. The ones near us are...turning red…kriff!” He hissed, shutting his mouth a second too late. 

The beings close to their clump of bushes had indeed blossomed into a violent shade of red. As other beings farther away noticed this color change, they also began to turn red, spreading down the main street of the town. It appeared to work as a warning system of some kind, which was fascinating, but also terrifying-

“Maybe red is a color of peace and greeting on this planet,” Qui-Gon suggested quietly, his mouth quirked with humor. 

Obi-Wan might normally have rolled his eyes and responded sarcastically, but he felt a wave of fear sweep through him. He’d never had to defend himself without the aid of the Force before. 

Qui-Gon laid a hand on his shoulder. “Peace, Padawan,” he murmured. “The Force is always present, even when we cannot feel it. We will meet them together.”

Obi-Wan gave a determined nod and squared his shoulders. 

***

The following ten minutes were extremely tense. He and Qui-Gon were dragged from the bushes by a throng of angry red beings. Up close, their faces looked like a cross between felines and humans. The effect gave them all a somewhat sneaky, untrustworthy look, but Obi-Wan knew better than to judge an entire species on appearance alone. 

He had forgotten that pre-contact civilizations had no grasp of Basic, so there was no easy way for them to communicate their intentions. Qui-Gon tried, speaking in a low, calm voice with an easy, open expression on his face. 

“We are from Coruscant,” he intoned repeatedly. “Our ship crashed in the forest. We come in peace.”

But perhaps their tones and body language were different from humanoids, because Qui-Gon’s deep voice simply made them all start chattering to one another in agitated tones.

Many Jedi were gifted in learning languages. Obi-Wan had never been one of those Jedi, and it would be even worse for him without the use of the Force. 

He sighed as an adult male prodded him with a club, pushing him towards the center of the village. He decided that he needed to think of this experience as an exercise in gratitude. He was certainly getting a firsthand look at how difficult life would be without the Force. 

They were bound and forced to stand next to one another on a little platform in the middle of town. 

“I take it back; I don’t want to be an anthropologist, Master,” Obi-Wan muttered.

Qui-Gon smiled at him. Whatever he was going to say in response was cut off by the arrival of a wizened elder. The crowd parted to let her through. She had a curtain of long hair that was currently a disturbing shade of blood red, and she hobbled up to the platform with the aid of a walking stick. 

She was so tiny that Obi-Wan was bizarrely reminded of Master Yoda, and he almost wanted to laugh. He automatically reached to broadcast the mental image to his master, only for all traces of his good humor to fade when he felt the bond’s cold absence at the back of his mind. 

The woman announced something to the assembled crowd, her voice guttural and croaking. The words were fluid and almost musical, carrying the weight of ritual. Obi-Wan noticed a single being whose skin had not taken on the red hue of danger. A male, standing at the back of the crowd, was a washed-out gray color from head to toe, including his clothing. 

As a Jedi, he’d been trained to notice these kinds of small details - the pieces that did not fit in with the whole. But he was quickly distracted from the outlier when the elder turned and began to abruptly advance toward them. 

In spite of the walking stick, she could move quickly. 

“I believe she is going to perform a rite to judge our characters and our intentions, Padawan,” his Master said quietly. “Just remain calm.”

The woman’s head was bowed, and she chanted in a low voice as she approached them. 

She stopped in front of Qui-Gon first, perhaps because he was far more physically intimidating than Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan watched with fear and trepidation as she reached out one gnarled, wizened hand and touched the bare skin of his master’s hand. 

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but he found himself exhaling with relief along with the rest of the crowd as the elder’s skin faded from blood red to a bright, vibrant green. The green color began to ripple through the rest of the crowd. It was a slightly brighter, lighter shade than the color of the grass and trees on this planet.

_The color of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber,_ he realized with a small smile. His master was strong with the Living Force, able to coax all manner of living things to full strength and health. Of course his aura would be a strong, bright green. 

His smile quickly faded as the elder turned toward him. His heart began to pound in his chest, afraid, as always, of being measured and found wanting. What if the elder’s skin became red again when she touched him? What if it faded to gray, like the strange being at the back of the crowd?

_This one is not worthy,_ he imagined the elder telling the crowd. _He is angry. He is emotional. He betrayed his master on Melida/Daan. No one wanted him as a padawan._

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, attempting to clear his mind like he’d always been taught. _Picture a safe place,_ Master Ringa in the crѐche had always instructed him. _A shelter in the middle of a storm._

He closed his eyes and imagined sitting on the sofa in their quarters in the Temple, Qui-Gon quietly working on his datapad across from him. He barely felt the brush of the elder woman’s hand against his own.

Another sigh of relief rippled through the crowd. When Obi-Wan blinked and dared to open his eyes, he was greeted by a sea of deep blue faces. 

***

“Okay, I take it back again,” he chattered to his Master as they were untied from their bindings. “That was amazing! I mean, I never spent so much time thinking about how we assign certain emotional values to different colors before today. What if our auras had been orange? Or brown? Would that have been permissible? Are green and blue the safest colors simply because they are found most often in nature?”

Qui-Gon looked distracted. 

“Master?” Obi-Wan asked, massaging his freed wrists to get the blood flowing again. “What is it?”

“The colors reminded me of our lightsabers. I think we left them with the wreckage of the ship. We must retrieve them. We must not forget.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “You’re worried about our memories.”

Qui-Gon gave an answering nod, smiling at the native who untied his ankles. “I sense that we may be growing more forgetful by the hour, and we still do not know why.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “I have felt it too, Master. We need to write things down as soon as we have the chance.”

“A wise idea, Obi-Wan,” his master said. “But for now, I believe we must meet the locals and try to communicate with them.”

***

Obi-Wan stayed close to his master’s side all evening. After the ritual, they were escorted to a long, low building where they were served a massive feast. About twenty of the native beings joined them at the large table, and Obi-Wan guessed that they formed the council of elders of the settlement. They all appeared to be at least middle-aged, and they eyed Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon curiously, occasionally asking Qui-Gon questions that he could not understand or answer. 

After the head elder had tested their auras, the natives had reverted back to their original colors, the danger gone. Obi-Wan watched in fascination, trying to understand how the color-changing worked. It appeared that everyone had a base color that reflected their aura. Looking down the table, he spotted various shades of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple. The gray man sat four seats away from Obi-Wan, his face completely expressionless. 

As the elders conversed with one another, their color changed sometimes. A man whispered something to a woman and she bloomed red for a moment, slapping him on the arm reprovingly before eventually fading back to purple. A woman listened to another woman with a somber expression, her green skin fading to blue. 

“I think they’re empaths,” he whispered to his master, awed. “They each have a distinct color that reflects their personality, but they change according to the emotions they sense around them.”

His master nodded, but he looked perturbed. “I haven’t heard of any empathic species existing in the past century. Something is very strange about this planet.”

Obi-Wan tried his best to pay attention and learn the customs of the elders, but he found himself practically nodding off over his plate, the events of the past day catching up with him. Qui-Gon had only allowed Obi-Wan to place a small selection of the offered food on his plate. They did not know if these foods were fit for humanoids to eat, so they had to proceed cautiously. 

He mostly drank water and nibbled at some fruit, trying to stay awake and hold on to a single thought: _T_ _hey needed to write down what had happened to them, they needed to write down what had happened to them, they needed to write…_

It was becoming hard to hold onto even that one simple thought, but he clung to it desperately, even as he felt like his mind was blurring around the edges. 

He was distracted for a moment when a boy with a bright orange face poked his head through the back door of the room. The boy appeared to be around his own age, and he offered Obi-Wan a cheerful grin and wave before disappearing again. 

By the time Obi-Wan turned back to the table, he had already lost the thread of memory he was clinging to.

***

After the meal, they were shown to a small hut on the outskirts of the settlement. He got the impression that it was a spare hut - perhaps once belonging to someone who had passed away - and that several of the locals had been busily furnishing the place while they had eaten with the elders.

Qui-Gon attempted to converse with the beings outside the hut, but Obi-Wan was too tired to follow the pointing and gesturing. 

He zeroed in on the two cots at the back of the hut. He flopped onto one of them, not even bothering to kick off his boots. 

_There was something he needed to do...something important._

With a groan, he pushed himself back into a seated position, thinking hard. Qui-Gon entered the hut too, and he also had a slightly pained expression of concentration on his face. 

“We were supposed to do something,” Obi-Wan said. “We were supposed to do something.” He repeated the mantra, afraid of forgetting it. 

They had left something behind. Something they needed to retrieve. Something that would stop them from forgetting. 

Desperate to do something before it slipped away, Obi-Wan ran to the corner of the hut that had cooking supplies. He grabbed a small knife, found a piece of scrap wood near the hearth, and began carving. 

To his surprise, his hands formed the word _Sabers._

Obi-Wan frowned. “What does that mean?”

Qui-Gon shook his head, peering at the carving. “I don’t know, Pad-” His voice trailed off, as though he couldn’t find the rest of the word he was looking for. 

“Perhaps we’ll remember in the morning,” Obi-Wan suggested hopefully. 

***

Obi-Wan awoke when the moon was still high in the sky. He couldn't see the moon through the window near his bed, but he could tell from the soft flood of moonlight that spilled into the hut. 

Something had awakened him. It was a familiar feeling - a prickling awareness at the back of his neck, a tensing of his muscles. He was being watched. 

Moving slowly and sleepily so he wouldn’t arouse suspicion, he flipped over so that he faced the room at large, rather than the wall. He was in a hut that was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He scanned the small space with a keen eye, but found no intruder. 

He silently slid off his bed and stood, tiptoeing over towards the closest window. Nobody crouched in the moonlight or ran away hastily. He was alone. 

Or rather - not alone. Someone slept in the other cot. A man. For a terrifying second, he couldn’t remember the other man’s name. 

_Qui-Gon._

“Qui-Gon,” he whispered to himself, hoping it would help him remember the name. 

He suddenly noticed something out of place. The front door to the hut was ajar. It moved periodically with the breeze, swinging slightly open and then back to mostly closed as he watched. 

Feeling relieved, he padded over to shut it. The wind must have blown it open earlier, and he had mistaken the small noises and movement as an intruder. That was all. 

He didn’t notice, as he slipped back into bed, that the piece of wood he had carved was missing from the table. 

***

It was morning, and the boy couldn’t remember who he was. 

He paced around the small wooden hut in a panic. 

_Think,_ he told himself. _What do you know? What is your name?_

He strained to reach his memories, but they were cloudy and distant. He recalled hurtling from the sky, the sound of screaming metal, and a painful impact. When he checked his legs and stomach, he could see dark bruises there, still relatively fresh. _A crash. They crashed on this planet._

_They had walked to a settlement._

But who were ‘ _they’_? And where had they been going before the crash?

For some reason, he found himself dropping into a seated position in the middle of the hut, neatly folding his legs and resting his upturned palms on his knees. The posture made no sense and triggered no memories, but it was automatic. 

_Breathe and think,_ his mind supplied. 

The nameless boy closed his eyes.

***

His mind was empty, other than his very recent memories. He rifled through his brain, trying to pick out names and faces and places, but it was as though he stood in the middle of a large storage warehouse, and all the furniture and goods had been covered and meticulously wrapped in white cloth, obscured and impossible to untangle.

_Except..._ two stubborn memories remained at the very back of the warehouse. He crept forward silently, worried that he would reach out to touch the two small orbs and they would disappear behind a shroud too. 

_Fundamental._ His brain offered the word. _Integral. These two memories define who I am._

He started with the smaller one first, stealing an anxious glance around the warehouse of his mind before picking the memory up. It was brief and fleeting and relatively recent, giving off an impression of bright happiness and determination. 

_It was his life-day. A tall man with long brown hair and kind eyes handed him a stone._

_He knew, without a doubt, that this man’s opinion of him meant more than anyone else’s in the entire universe. If this man told him to steal a speeder or jump off a cliff, he would do it. If this man instructed him to eat more vegetables and to stop leaving his dirty boots in his bedroom, he would try his best to remember. If there was a blaster bolt or a flickering blade aimed at this man, he would step in front of it without hesitation._

_The rock was black, with curious red lines running through it._

_It was his life-day, and he hadn’t been sent away. He’d gotten a second chance, and he wasn’t going to waste it._

The boy smiled as he tumbled back into the warehouse. He carefully returned the first orb to its place in the corner. 

The second orb was heavy with the weight of sadness, dusty and long-forgotten. It took him a longer time to fall into this recollection. The orb was much deeper than it looked, filled to the brim with a staggering well of love and devotion and grief. 

_A woman held him close. He was very young, perhaps three. She had the same coppery hair as he did and her face was as familiar and beloved to him as the light of the sun or hum of the Force, although he had not thought of it in years._

_Mother._

_She had tears streaming down her face and her arms were tight around the little boy. He was ravenously hungry, and his mother must have been too. Her face and fingers were too thin, and it had the effect of making her gray eyes look large and luminous in her tired face._

_A kind-looking old man in brown robes spoke to her compassionately. “It is for the best, ma’am. He will be well-fed and well-educated with us. He will not reach his full potential here.”_

_“I don’t want to give him up,” his mother cried. “Ben is all I have.”_

_“I’ll give you some time to think about it,” the man promised, bowing respectfully and disappearing._

_His mother squeezed him tight and wept. The toddler stared up at her nervously. He didn’t like when she was sad._

_Eventually she wiped her face and began to rock him. His eyes grew heavy. Moonlight spilled through the window of their shack._

_Mother’s voice trembled with emotion when she began to sing._

_“The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms…”_

He fell out of the memory, gasping for breath, tears pricking his eyes. As soon as he landed back in the warehouse, the contents of the scene began to fade. He’d been so young when the orb was formed that his mind couldn’t retain the memory permanently. 

First the old man in brown robe faded, then his mother’s voice, then her face, her sad eyes, the softness of her braided hair.

He was left with only a single word. A name for himself. _Ben._

***

Ben poked around the hut. 

He didn’t recognize it, but he supposed that he must live in it. Or that he must have been staying in it since the crash that had marked him with these bruises. 

The single room was small and spare, but oddly charming. It was furnished with slightly crooked handmade wooden furniture, although most of the furniture was smaller than he was used to. 

A stove sat next to a window where gray daylight filtered in and created dappled patches of light on a table and two chairs that sat in the middle of the room. He absently trailed his fingers over the smooth tabletop, hoping it would spark some kind of recollection. The opposite wall was mostly taken up by a fireplace and chimney, and two small, neat cots sat along the back wall. 

He blinked at the two cots. He hadn’t been alone when he had crashed, but he couldn’t remember-

The doorknob creaked just then, and Ben scrambled into a defensive position. His right hand automatically reached to grab something that should have sat at the left side of his waist, only to come up with thin air. 

_Strange,_ he thought, casting around for something he could use as a weapon against the intruder. 

A tall man stood in the doorway. His eyes met Ben’s and they both paused, staring at each other. 

For some reason, Ben found his defensive posture relaxing, the jolt of adrenaline fading. He shook himself slightly, reminding himself to keep his guard up. He eyed the window above the stove, wondering if he could fit through it if the tall man continued to block the path to the door.

“Hello,” the man greeted him, his voice low and calm.

“Hello,” Ben returned nervously. Something about this man was deeply familiar to him, but it wasn’t until he felt the reassuring weight of a stone in his pocket that he remembered - a life-day, a gift, a warm hand on his shoulder. 

He reached into his pocket and removed the stone. Sure enough, it was black with red streaks. He turned back to the man in the doorway, relieved that he wasn’t an enemy. 

The man watched Ben’s shifting body language curiously. “Do you...know me, young one?” He asked hopefully. “This may sound odd, but I’m afraid that I can’t remember who I am. I tried to ask in the village, and one of the elders drew a picture indicating that we arrived here recently.”

Ben nodded. “I can’t remember much,” he confessed. “But we know each other.”

“What is your name, young one?” The man asked, stepping fully inside and closing the door behind him. He looked almost comically tall in the hut. Ben suddenly remembered color-changing faces - the species who lived on this planet was shorter than humanoids. They were the ones who had built this hut. 

“I’m Ben,” he said, offering a tentative smile. “And you…”

He tried to weigh the limited information he had available and the feelings he had in his gut about this man.

_Devotion, loyalty, safety._ _An aching desire for approval._

Somehow he _knew_ things, with a feeling of simple conviction, from the time before _,_ when they had lived on a different planet and known their own names. This was the man who made him tea in the afternoons, who patched up his scrapes and bruises, who helped him solve astrophysics problems the night before his exams. 

“I don't know your name,” Ben apologized. “But I think you’re my father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, an intellectual: Yes, the subtlety of JA and Star Wars fics is really what makes them great. That's the only way to explore Jedi stoicism without it being wildly out of character. 
> 
> Also me: JUST COME OUT AND SAY IT, OBI-WAN. SAY IT. YOU WANT A DAD


End file.
